


(clever title name)

by theultimatecrow



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, robin you did this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theultimatecrow/pseuds/theultimatecrow
Summary: Juso is tired of being a fuck-ugly nobody in the busy cities of Japan, so he decides to be a fuck-ugly nobody in a little town where everybody seems to want him dead.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Lush green grass flattens under Moashi's too-fancy shoes, and mud formed from last night's rain clings to the pristine black to paint the images of nature pitted against luxury. Slitted nostils flare and draw in the warm scents carried by the wind and the man bathes his tongue in them, he tastes the promise of more chilled rain on cooler springtime days and he tastes growth, the world coming back to life after breaking free of winter'd grip and finally shedding the last of its frosts. 

Moashi also smells hardship on the horizon, because he has no idea how to grow plants.

The idea of leaving Sir Nighteye and the hero scene behind altogether had started as a joke, something he only indulged in when he was in his home alone and tipsy, muttering to himself late in the night and watching the world around him pass through little windows in the humble house he'd called his own. And then it began to stick in Moashi's head- clung to his brain like cobwebs and sank its claws in deep, made itself more pronounced when he had the time to think and practically crooned into his ears about how easy things would be, how he'd never have to struggle like this again.

More incidents passed, crime surged, and the idea was still there, a beacon of shining hope in Moashi's future; the promise of salvation, of shelter and rest and ease. And while he was put on bedrest following a nasty fight with a League underling, suddenly he was weary of his lifestyle. He was tired of being torn apart on the job, tired of being overshadowed by other heroes. Centipeder was nothing but a nobody sidekick and he would never amount to anything more, only things less than the pathetic title he already bore.

With that, he declared his life over! Within three weeks he was selling his home, packing up and quitting- which caused a stir. Sir Nighteye had argued horribly with him, tears and insults shed and traded rather than their usual jokes. Sir's words still rang in Moashi's head, both his pleas and his profanity, tearing ugly rifts into the soft part of his brain that housed nothing but affection for the intelligent man who had seen more than anyone else had in him.

But it hadn't been enough.

Juso stares out at the wrecked land before him, dotted with ruined structures from a time long ago when this farm was still tended to. His belly tightens with apprehension- he hadn't expected so much work to be laid before him! He'd been told the land was ready to be worked...

He shakes himself, then turns to push open the door to the ratty building he'll be calling home now. Old wood creaks and sighs softly under his weight, wet and half-rotten but sturdy enough. He silently picks out the holes in the ceiling and situates his sleeping bag in the driest area, then he sweeps the dusty fireplace clean and promptly sneezes, knocking his hard snout against the even harder bricks and saying a few words that'd make his mother faint.

Wood, right. He needs wood for a fire. Rubbing his tender snout, he rises to his feet once more and looks around for something left behind. But all the wood inside stinks of rot and he'd rather not find out how wet wood burns- so out he goes, hefting an old and rusty axe up out of the dirt and grunting as he awkwardly swings it over his shoulder.

And within two hours, Moashi learns his first lesson: chopping down a tree is hard and it works muscles he scarcely knows he has.

Staring down at the messily chopped logs, he breathes out slowly. Rivulets of sweat course down his back like a river, soaking his perfectly white dress shirt and making it stick to his back- and suddenly he's very glad he's all alone out here because Lord knows he doesn't want to be seen regretting his decision. It's barely springtime and yet here he is panting and sweating like a pig, cursing Gods he cannot name, raising the axe again and again to break the logs into smaller pieces, then smaller again, and again.

He hates it. And he says it with each swing. _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you._ The chant sings in his head and brings strength to his limbs as he forces himself to go until the sun sits heavy on the horizon, bathing him in dusk colors and casting long shadows over his land. _His_ land, he thinks a little proudly.

With arms full of musty logs, he heads back towards his little shit-shack- and when something scuttles over his shoes Juso reflexively kicks out, and he's greeted with a squeak and a soft whump. Lifting his head reveals that he's just kicked a rat hard enough to send it airborne, and the idea is so ridiculous that he actually laughs. And then he feels bad and he apologizes as the creature scurries off again. He'd like to make sure it's alright, but he knows full well he'd more than likely receive several (deserving) bites in return and so he simply shakes himself once more and carries on, into the house, where he arranges logs and leaves and twigs neatly in the fireplace before he inspects the others and then takes them outside to stack them there. He'd rather not invite more spiders inside, thank you very much.

That night, Moashi learns his second lesson: it gets really cold at night.

The former hero wakes up cold and stiff, stuffed into a sleeping back that smells like he does now, and he groans audibly and throws the cover off. Every muscle in his body cries in protest and he has no means of silencing them- he stretches, but pain still claws at him, and he's left to shuffle outside to greet the day unwillingly. Dawn smells fresh and damp but warm- the cloud cover is thin, he notes miserably, so the sun has yet another chance to assault him today, and he wonders briefly if his new home has running water.

It does, but the bathroom is filthy enough to make even a seasoned hero cry as he furiously washes insect after insect down the drain. Hypocritical, he tells himself- and he wonders if it's some kind of war crime. Surely he has some kinship with insects? The thought doesn't linger long as he washes first his clothes, and then his body. 

Feeling clean, Juso checks the mailbox. And he's surprised to find something waiting for him! A packet of seeds, a note, and a map of this cozy little town. He squints at it, notes that whoever left it has been kind enough to mark where his farm is, and his spirits lift at the prospect of meeting the lovely people who live here. Such a sleepy little place ought to be full of kind faces!

He finds out the hard way that it isn't. Nobody looks directly at him, and they all scowl or make some kind of unpleasant face at him. A child calls him ugly and his presumed mother says nothing about how rude that is, and Juso is surprised enough that he makes no attempt to correct the kid either, he just turns to dip into the little general store to his left.

It's dim inside, and his sharp eyes blink rapidly to adjust. It smells of dust and earth, the scents of a place untouched by the modern world's advancements beyond electricity and probably a TV somewhere in the back. Nobody sits behind the register, so he turns to browse. He's been there a few minutes when a new scent touches his tongue and a sudden rasping voice is startling him so severely that he drops the packet of parsnip seeds he'd been holding. He stoops to pick them up and set them back into their little box before he turns to see who's startled him.

Moashi is greeted by fierce eyes, darked by shadows. They sit buried deep in their sockets, blazing blue above hollowed cheeks and they're framed by two long cuts of hair that hang down messily. The man before him is tall and gaunt, and his breath stinks of sickness so severely that Juso almost gasps- but really, the only thing on his mind is how quietly the guy can move around.

"Ah, I didn't quite hear you," Juso flusters. "Can you repeat yours-"

"I _said_ ," The man snaps so harshly that Moashi wants to flinch. "Are you going to buy anything or are you just going to stand around and stink up my store like the rotten mutant you are?"

He wonders how this store sells anything at all with an old fart like this barking at everybody who looks a little different. Indignity helps him find his voice, and although he's never been as sharp-tongued as most, he can surely say a curse word or two. But rather than fight fire with fire, he tries to be polite for his own sake.

"Sorry. I was just browsing." Moashi says it with a gesture towards the shelf at his side, and he earns himself a snort from the man behind the counter, like he's just said the most obvious thing in the world.

" _Duh_ ," the man Juso is now mentally dubbing "Big Asshole" says, and he lays a slender hand on the counter. Juso glances at it long enough to know that it's a hand that's seen some hard work. Maybe this man used to work on a farm as well. The question sits on his tongue but he doesn't get to ask, because Big Asshole blusters on like he has some reason to be upset.

"You city folk are all the same. You move up here thinking life is gonna be all easy-peasy and relaxation and you don't contribute a damn thing to this little town. You take and you take and then you move away like it's nothin', just because you got the money to come and go as you please."

Moashi blinks and says nothing. Big Asshole seems to take that as an insult.

"You gonna buy something? If not, get the hell out and don't come back."

Struck by how dreadful this interaction went, Juso buys a bunch of seed packets in silence, waves at Big Asshole to keep the change, and then he trods off back towards his farm and wonders how he's supposed to plant anything or even make an _attempt_ to live here because apparently, folks were very hostile here.

He tucks the seeds into his pocket for now and spends the day perching at the edge of the pond, staring out into the reeds and hoping he'll get to see the rat he kicked yesterday.


	2. Chapter 2

Moashi really doesn't want to see Big Asshole again. He's dragged it out as long as he could, slipped in the few fleeting times a younger, kinder man was working the store, but as he carefully shuffles damp earth over the last of his seeds he curses and realizes he'll have to go back into that little store and face that sharp tongue again.

His belly hardens with dread as he wipes his hands on his dusty pants. Recalling their last interaction has him nervous- he doesn't know what he's done to upset the older man, but he doesn't really care to find out. Juso's done nothing but work humbly, plant seed after seed, gently nurture his plants into steady growth in between clearing the land and rebuilding his home. He can't quite grasp what exactly could set the guy off so quickly.

_Maybe he has a phobia,_ Juso muses softly, as he grabs his previously discarded shirt. Somehow it's still a soft and pretty gray, almost new, and he smooths his half-clean hands over it and frowns at the dirt under his claws. Really, it's no bother to him, but looking sloppy feels like a death sentence in Pelican Town. He'd missed some sort of egg festival, and then a flower dance, and he was bewildered to find that his lack of appearances had somehow dragged his reputation even deeper under the water. He couldn't wrap his head around these fussy folk and their odd ways.

He shuffles his feet outside of the store, looking like a sheep at the slaughterhouse as he catches glimpses of the bitter man behind the counter, but then the former hero draws in a breath, puts on a smile, and steps in. All professionalism as he quietly paws through boxes of seed packets, as he plucks up both flowers and vegetables. He may as well garden and add some life to the place, and as he sets the seeds on the counter, he braces himself for scathing words.

But they don't come right away. First he's scrutinized, he watches those eyes roam what visible skin Juso has out. His hands, his forearms, and his neck and head- the coils of his neck are drawn up tight and nervously, and his legs are eeriely still. Holding them in place is a strain and he can feel those blazing eyes raking over every feature, practically burning him. It's almost a relief when the man speaks to him.

"So," Big Asshole drawls, planting one finger on a packet of spring onion seeds and dragging it closer as he finally lowers his gaze. "I'm surprised a hero's made it this long without running off back to the fame and glory."

He sounds so bitter. Juso wonders why as he opens his mouth to say, "Former hero, actually."

He earns himself a dismissive wave like technicalities don't matter. It makes him narrow his eyes. 

"Who cares?" The older man replies, lazily scanning the seed packets- going agonizingly slowly. Dragging this out to twist the knife. Juso wants to bite him. "You're all the same. You'll run away eventually."

When Moashi doesn't reply, Big Asshole looks up at him again, and those gaunt features draw into obvious displeasure. And he carries on, once again offended by silence.

"You're all cowards," he spits, and he slams his palm onto a packet of cauliflower seeds- it explodes under the pressure and Juso can hear several seeds skittering off the counter and bouncing along until they come to rest out of sight. His antennae twitch in both surprise and annoyance, because he totally isn't impressed with childish tantrums like this.

"You run away from your duties when the world becomes too much. You let people _die_ until you decide that returning to your line of work suits you. You shirk your duties like a petulant child and come the cold weather, you'll go running back to fighting crime like the miserable insect you are."

"On the contrary," Juso cuts in, sounding harsh too now as his frustration mounts, as his irritation bubbles over. "I surrendered my license and made it very clear that I would not be returning."

"Oh, _congrats_!" Big Asshole all but shouts, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You've made enough money to retire six times over, there's no hardship in this for you! There's no struggle, there's no-"

"Can I buy these seeds or not? I can argue with you another time."

Silence stretches between them, and for a few long seconds Juso wonders if this man has a murderous quirk. He wonders if he'll be grabbed and splattered on the wall, or brainwashed, but instead a replacement packet of seeds is grabbed and he's cashed out in a stony silence. He's given not a bag nor a second glance as the other man turns and disappears deeper into the store, leaving Juso to shake his weary head and head out and back to his farm.

The days are getting hotter. Hot enough that Juso's shirtless endeavors earn him agonizing sunburns that blister and bleed under his clothes, but he's too proud to take a day off. His house is looking almost like a home. It's clean inside and outside, and his crops are flourishing under his careful care, gently watered and shaded when need be. He finds that it's relaxing to be on his own. He has nobody he needs to save here. He doesn't have to fight for his life or anybody else's.

It's peaceful, even if it's hard work. Even if his back aches like hell and his fingers are always sore- but it's worth it. He's learning new things. He's experiencing life beyond strife, smelling and tasting new things. He found that his own crops tasted the best as well, and he was experimenting with all sorts of recipes in the privacy of his own home!

But his peace is shattered this morning. He's crouched over a pretty green shoot, carefully inspecting it for any pesky pests when he hears a familiar rasping sound, and he turns to find himself peering at Big Asshole.

The guy looks a lot worse in the daylight. Skin pallid and face shadowed, he's skin and bones under baggy clothes and Juso feels a stir of pity as he gazes at him. And then he breathes out all his irritation and lifts a hand to wave at the other man in what he hopes is a friendly manner.

"I never learned your name," Big Asshole says grumpily, gaze flitting around the farm. Juso might be imagining it, but he's sure he sees pleasure and surprise in his eyes.

"And I never learned _yours_. We haven't exactly had friendly chats."

"I just don't like heroes." The man bristles now, stepping closer, looking down at Juso as he remains crouched over the shoot he's tending to. "Yagi, though. You did well with this place."

At that, the former hero beams. Sharp teeth are bared in a horrible frightening grin, but he can't help it! Praise is just... wow! Especially from such a prickly man. It's a treat that the man finds himself basking in.

"Moashi Juso. I'm... well, glad to hear that. It certainly looks a lot different now." Hopefully his voice doesn't betray how much he likes Yagi's name, how he wants to say it to himself until it sounds natural. _Yagi, Yagi, Yagi,_ his brain chants, committing it to memory, branding itself with that pretty name in silence. 

"You're sunburnt." Yagi says this with obvious contempt, and Juso tips his head to look at the angry red plastered over his shoulders. And down his back and upper arms... he looks like a boiled lobster. 

"I see," he comments in return, turning his head away again. "The sun here is brutal. Far different from Japan. And it's barely even summer..."

His words are interrupted as something cool is suddenly slapped over his shoulder, and he realizes after a few seconds that Yagi is suddenly _close_ and rubbing what smells like aloe on him. The sudden intimacy makes him bristle in surprise and it raises goosebumps over his skin, as well as Yagi's eyebrows.

But nothing else is spoken between them. Sticky coolness is rubbed into his sunburn and then Yagi is leaving, and Juso is kneeling in the dirt and watching him go, resisting the urge to call out to him.

He thinks his feelings just got a lot more complicated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter because hell i cant sleep until i write more

Juse wakes up cold and hot at the same time. His ribs ache, every breath is a miserable wheeze, he's tender inside and out and getting out of bed makes little tears pool in the indents of his exoskeleton that sit just beneath his eyes. Maybe working in the rain had been a bad idea after all. But it was summer! He assumed the chill creeping into his bones had been temporary, but as he shudders and cold sweat beads on his chest, he accepts that he's sick.

He tries to ride it out, of course. He showers, checks his plants, vomits into the dirt and keeps going until he's dryheaving and only drool is dripping onto his hands- then Moashi showers again and sinks back into bed. He'll sleep it off, he tells himself.

He tells himself that for days. Days that go to waste between the sheets, days that either drip past or fall away all at once as he sleeps and wakes only for water and something small to eat. And he carries on like this for more days, dead to the world, silently grieving the loss of his crops to the hot summer sun.

Fever dreams grip him like talons. Moashi's head is a pit of illness and he dreams of murder, of blood and gore. Of snapping bones and gushing blood and the harsh scents of drugs as they seep into a person's body. He writhes, he sweats and he kicks off the blankets as his mouth works in silent screams in the night-

Until he wakes to the feeling of a chilled hand against his bare, sweat-sticky chest, and his hazy eyes open into semidarkness and the shape of something tall and lanky and pale. Juso thinks it's a ghost until he hears that familiar, perpetually-displeased snort.

"I was beginning to think you up and died," Yagi says harshly, but his eyes betray his worry as Juso falls limp under his touch again. Then those spindly, worn hands are grabbing the former hero under his arms, shaking him before straining to sit him up.

"Hey, hey. Get up. You look like you're gonna die." And when Juso's response is lost to retching, Yagi pales- if that's even possible. Concern sharpens his features as he watches the other man vomit up foaming bile and scraps of food that stinks of rot. 

He frowns, and the dirty blanket is pulled away and bundled into a corner, leaving Juso half-naked and shivering even as sweat rolls down his body like he's baking. Yagi wonders what he's done to get himself sick- and why he's let it fester. "Heroes are supposed to be smart." He says sharply, as he sheds his light sweater and drapes it around the other man. He gets no snippy response, which worries him further. Juso's gaze is foggy and unfocused like he's far away, and his mouth is moving in mutters that Yagi can't decipher. Something about a Sir and Trigger, he thinks.

"Up," he commands, and when Juso just stares ahead he grabs the other man and strains against his weight to haul him up. Moashi is a big guy, Yagi realizes, and bearing his weight is hard, but he still drags the guy along barefooted and half-dead off towards the teeny medical clinic they have in Pelican Town. 

  
When Juso wakes, everything hurts. From his eyes to his throat to his chest, but his breath comes easier and the horrible thoughts have eased. He's staring up at a bright light and a face he hasn't seen yet- pretty features hidden by a sick mask. The sterile scent of a hospital washes over him and makes him groan, but no bile rushes up this time. No sickness, just soreness. 

He tries to sit up, and the pretty man pushes him down again and says something that probably is important before he bustles out again and leaves Juso to stare around at plain white walls. His tongue burns from the antiseptic smell and he worries for his plants, but he doesn't dare stir until suddenly the door is yanked open and in walks Yagi himself, scowling. Juso practically shrinks in his exoskeleton.

"Next time you get sick, die on your own time. Watering your crops for two weeks was exhausting."

The statement makes the former hero blink, and his mouth opens until a hand is raised and he's silenced prematurely.

"Don't say it," Yagi growls, and a quick flick of his wrist has him sending a card fluttering onto Juso's chest. He lifts his head to look at it- it's decorated with a photo of a sunflower field. Something about it is soothing. "Just accept my help and take care of yourself, because it won't happen again."

"Thank you." The words are a rasp, breaking in his throat like broken glass and leaving rotten bleeding furrows in their wake. Juso coughs, and Yagi's brilliant blue glare intensifies briefly. 

Then there's silence. Juso lowers his gaze, and the older man continues to stare daggers at him before promptly leaving. That pretty doctor bustles in again, forces a pill under Juso's tongue and hands him a bottle of them without saying what they are- Moashi is grateful nonetheless, and soon enough he's shuffling home barefooted and tired.

Huh. Yagi really _did_ keep his crops alive.

That man is a puzzle Juso's going to die trying to put together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no proofread i die like a man

"You have more teeth than brains." A dry voice cuts into Juso's mind like a knife, interrupting his long and peaceful yawn that stretches his jaw in the best way possible- and reflexively his mouth snaps shut so quickly that it makes the gaunt man across from him narrow his eyes. Moashi thinks about apologizing, but he's learning that sharp quips settle with Yagi much better than honeyed kindness does. So all he does is narrow his eyes in return and earn himself a scoff and a muttered, "Don't look at me like that."

He's been spending his days putting nick after nick in the pelt of hostility that sits between them, and although he still has a ways to go, Juso no longer finds himself being bitten in half simply for being alive. 

He considers that a start.

"These teeth serve me better than my own claws. Maybe you should consider a brain trade-in," Juso shoots back, idly tracing a claw over a worn-away sticker on the counter between them. Yagi swats his hand away like he's a petulant child.

"And make myself half the fool you are? No thanks, Centipede." With that, Toshinori- Juso had relished in learning the man's first name over the weeks that followed his illness- sweeps the seed packets and prepackaged granola bars into a bag and hands it over as the other man sets his money on tbe counter. He always pays too much and leaves the change.

One day Juso Moashi would know this man well enough to call him his friend.

  
_It's supposed to be summer_ , Juso thinks miserably as rain pelts down mercilessly, turning the earth to mud and puddles and more than likely drowning out his poor crops. He sits on a roughhewn chair on the porch and stares out at the land, frowning as he squints. He can't see as far as he can use his quirk- and so he can't work. He's halfway through building a coop so he can buy some chickens and turn a profit with them- he'd like some cows, too. He's getting sick of living off of grown vegetables and foraged fruits, and come winter, he'll need something heartier than salads to keep him going. Thoughtfully, he rubs the sharp cut of his chin as he mentally slips off into a silent place away from the rain.

But once again Moashi's peace is shattered by the man he's been trying to unravel. Soggy footsteps catch the former hero's attention and he turns his head to find himself staring at a familiar lanky form, distorted by rain and an umbrella as the man comes closer. And then Juso's squawking in alarm and hopping down the stairs to bustle Yagi into the shelter of the porch.

The poor guy is soaked to the bones, his messy hair slicked to his skull and his clothes plastered to his impossibly skinny form and making him look all the more pathetic. But his eyes are fierce as ever and keep Juso from fussing over him as he's suddenly pinned by that blazing blue. 

"You're wet." 

Yagi rolls his eyes so harshly that Moashi's surprised they don't fall out, but rather than simply brace himself for a verbal attack, he shakes his head and cuts the other man off with a tutting sound as he opens the door and points inside in a manner that offers no argument. "Nope. Give me a tongue-lashing once you're dry." 

There's a challenge in the older man's eyes, an argument, rage at being cared for by a former hero- but a sudden clap of thunder seems to wash that away and Yagi disappears into the warmth of the house, leaving Juso to stare out at the field for a moment more before he follows.

By the time he comes in, Yagi's already kneeling at the fireplace, basking in its warmth and drying himself as the chill of being soaked settles into his bones. Moashi wonders quietly how the man ever survives winter, but he fetches a towel rather than ask his question, and when he returns he takes it upon himself to drape the fabric over the other guy's shoulders. And of course he earns himself a glare.

"I don't need your help," Toshinori spits, but he grabs the towel and pulls it tighter around himself like he's cold and won't admit it. So Juso takes his bitter words with a grain of salt.

"You may as well stay until supper. The news said the rain should be easing by then- but you're welcome to stay for a meal as well."

"Don't centipedes eat bugs and dirt?" It's another harsh dig at his appearance, he's sure, and how mutant-type quirks are looked at as less than human. His smile strains and he can see satisfaction leak into Yagi's features. He doesn't understand how a man can enjoy being cruel.

Moashi doesn't dignify him with an answer, instead retreating to the kitchen to see what he has to offer. It's mostly fruits and veggies and some storebought meat. His heart aches as he thinks of all the Japanese cuisine he's left behind, but with no ramen in sight here, he can't even prepare something basic. He's only glad he's learned English in his life- even if Yagi's name sounds Japanese and he wonders if the man himself is a traveler who'd settled in here long ago. He muses on this in silence as he paws through the fridge and the cupboards to find the man a simple something to munch on for now. He only comes up with the granola bars he'd bought some days before, but he deems them worthy and returns to the living room to drop one unceremoniously onto Yagi's lap.

He earns a perplexed look, but neither of them speak as Juso simply turns away to seat himself at the little table he'd built himself. He waits and waits until the other man finally tears open the granola bar, and he's surprised by how quickly he seems to eat it. The guy's surely not struggling for money, is he? He's not starving, not wasting away? Maybe Juso should buy in bulk just to give the guy some comfort-

"Thanks." The mumbled word cuts across Juso's thoughts like a claw, startling him out of his worries. And for a few seconds Juso wonders if he imagined it because nothing follows, Yagi isn't even looking at him, but again that deep, handsome voice speaks to him again, and this time he's rewarded with an actual glance. Those ocean blue eyes flicker over him just long enough to catch his attention before Yagi looks to the fire again. "You didn't have to help me. But I'm sure you still have hero instinct in there somewhere."

At that, Juso smiles. Usually the mention of heroes is enough to instantly piss Toshinori off, but he seems at peace this time. "Actually," he says in return, laying a hand on the table as he cocks his head. "That's just me being a decent person. Good neighbors help one another, correct?"

"We're not neighbors." Yagi points out in a mumble, and he hunches his shoulders like he's embarrassed. Juso is kind enough to drop the subject for now.

  
It's still pouring when evening rolls around ans they've already eaten. Yagi is all sleepy contentment as he dozes at the table, his eyes stay closed longer and longer and each time Juso expects them to stay closed. But the man is fighting sleep and Moashi doesn't blame him- he'd prefer to sleep at home too. 

But neither of them are willing to brave the rain and its wrath. Minutes tick by and hazy dusk slips into deep darkness when Juso finally calls it quits and accepts that he'll have a guest for the night.

"You might as well sleep," he says, grabbing the corner of his neatly-tucked covers and tugging it down to open his bed up. Yagi looks at him like he's just suggested killing and eating a child. 

"I'm fine. I'll wait out the rain." 

"You've been saying that since two this afternoon. And you're about to fall asleep at the table." Concern etches his voice and he wishes it didn't, but Moashi's heart is too big for its own good. He can't keep that shit contained. 

The older man lets out an irritable snort, and he glares at the former hero for a long time before he finally drags himself out of his chair to slink to the bed. Toshinori seems unsure, insecure, worried as he slides under the covers, and he squirms a lot- but he's asleep almost as soon as he falls still. Juso slides himself into his chair at the table and he stares tiredly at his bed and the stringy form in it.

He wishes it wasn't weird to share a bed with someone.


End file.
